I visited an ex the other night – we’ve seen each other a few times since the break up, and it’s been awkward, distant, lonely, but nice, I guess, that we were able to exist in the same space together.
That night was no different – sitting on different couches, making small talk, only half looking at each other. I was glad I went but also being like that with him makes me so incredibly sad, you know?
The night we met, he approached me for kink in a way that made me swoon and want to to sink my claws into him and rip him apart; I wanted him in an instinctual and powerful way that I haven’t quite felt with another person. He matched the intensity I brought, met my challenges and challenged me back – there was never a dull moment, nor was there a second of “well, what next?”. Eventually our “grabbing food after having a day-long scene” somehow slipped into dates, and it was nice, we had fun, but we were never compatible romantically the way we were through our kink.
I had been thinking about this a lot in the days leading up to seeing him again. It made me sad to be near him – someone with whom there was never a distance even when we were strangers – and feel so far from a connection.
I stood to leave. “Sorry this is still so weird. I just…don’t know how to be around you yet.”
It’s not that we’re back to square one; we’re at the intersection of square you feel so familiar and square we really don’t know each other anymore.
“We’re friends. Treat me like you would any of them.”
I laugh sarcastically. “This week I was propositioned for a threesome by friends and tied up others. That isn’t…appropriate with you, not right now.”
“Treat me like you would any friend”, he repeated softly, locking eyes with me.
My breath hitched.
A love once joked that he chooses to believe I have a muse, one that I subject to kink. Instinctively, unintentionally, I responded that I had one and he broke my heart.
I didn’t mean to say that, I hadn’t thought that before, but it was true.
I am intense with everyone I like (or don’t like), but what I had with him was different. The way we fit together through kink was inspiring and fulfilled me in a way that I didn’t know I needed, and I’ve missed that a lot since our break up. Not necessarily with him, but I’ve missed that feeling.
It’s been one visit and here I am, writing desperately, filled with thoughts and words in a way I haven’t been all year (though I always have trouble writing Jan-April. It’s a thing). My hands want to grab my rope, want to practice intensely for hours until I no longer fumble over the knots, want to push myself in ways that I haven’t had the energy to.
I won’t let myself do that. I won’t let myself tie for him – not again, not yet, I worked way too hard to get rope to be about myself and I don’t want to lose it again.
My limbs are full of a static that I haven’t held in a while.
The only thing to do with this static is to make, to create, to fill my world with the art that is now in my veins. Or just…hurt. Sadism is always a great tool.
He didn’t cause this fire, but he sure gave it some fuel.
He unhappily points out a hole in his jeans, not wanting to try and find a new pair “I wish I knew how to fix things”.
I hold out my hand. “Here, let me. I can get them back to you tomorrow.”
I nod, smiling. I may not be able to repair what happened between us, but I can mend his pants.
“Thanks! I’ll make you some tasty vegan food next time you come over. Because there’s nothing like two service people trying to out-service each other, right?” He understands the apology I’m patching into his clothes, knows the way our love for each other works.
We fell back into old habits; silence into jokes into gently feeling for the line. We relaxed rapidly, though I know that I was still holding a lot back – reigning in my urges to absolutely destroy him; not allowing myself to settle too much lest I slip up, not wanting to trust him fully.
‘Treat me like a friend’ felt dangerous to me. Our jokes were laced with kink innuendos and I wasn’t sure what side of flirting we were on, but, as always, I met his challenge. My brain was sending warning signals but I wasn’t backing down.
Last year I really struggled to connect with my kink, first because of this breakup, then the assault and subsequent health problems. I broke a lot last year, but dang did I ever grow.
I’ve slowly been making my way back to my dominance as I’ve healed, and these jokes both shook me and drew me in. My dominance has never felt so naturally confident as it does around him, and these jokes made that part of me wake up again, made me want to claim him once more as mine.
We were inches apart.
It’s funny how soon things can go from feeling strained to normal to pulling you back under.
“Um, ground rules. No kink.”
Even without it, we fit perfectly (tentatively, intensely) back together.
Muscle memory made us work to keep our rule as we fought to keep hands from grabbing, pinning, striking. He awkwardly corrected “daddy” to “dude” mid-fuck, making me almost cry from laughter, and from the kick in the gut that word-change gave.
The whole thing made me want to cry, honestly.
It felt like I made the biggest mistake, like I was setting myself up to be completely destroyed by him again. It took uber four months to stop suggesting his house was my home, and it felt like I suddenly came home, like we had only been away for a few days and like everything was how it should be. It felt good. And it felt terrifying. And there was no way that I was stepping back from this challenge.
I don’t think I really realized how attracted to him I still was, I don’t think I really realized just how much I was stopping myself from wanting him.
I remain convinced that this is going to end terribly for me.